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POEMS 



BY 



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ANNIE B. SPEARING 

ORONO, ME. 




^ 



Bangor, Maine 
C. H. Glass &. Co., Printers 

1S93 



?5^21^ 



,S^z 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S94, liy 

ANNIE B. SPEARING, 
In the office of the I-ibrarian of Congress, at Washington. 



CONTENTS. 

- PAGE 

A Heart Thought 7 

Summer Wood Calls 9 

Send Me a Thought 13 

Autumn 14 

Ode To The Penobscot _ 15 

The Fountain 17 

Association 20 

The Dullest 21 

Joyful News 23 

Smile Thou on Me 25 

Compensation 26 

The Reason 28 

Songs for Sad Ones 30 

Death 32 

Mountains 33 

Sometime 34 

ISA 35 

Two Days ; , .... 41 

'J'HE Last Song 42 

If We Could See 43 

A Nameless Grave- 45 

To AN Absent Friend 46 

Summer Twilight 47 

A Comment on She 49 



PAGE 

Love Fraternal 50 

Silent Influence 52 

Ideal Friendship b:i 

Pride 54 

Angels 55 

A Bouquet 57 

Doubt and Trust oS 

Dreams 60 

Was It a Dream Gl 

White Clovers 62 

Misunderstood G4 

Album Selection 65 

Onlv a Hay 66 

Farewell Old Year 67 

Easter Bells 68 

The Wounded Owi 69 

The Truth 71 

Unforgotten 72 

Only a Sheli 74 

Loss and Gain 76 

To A Caged Bird 77 

Content 78 

I^EAF AND Leaflet 71) 

Amaranth 82 

Revealed S3 

Easter Morn 85 

Other Days 86 

My Sweetheart 87 

To Alice 88 

Wishes 89 

To My Brother 91 



PAGE 

United __ 

A Changeless Song 95 

Twilight Prater 9^ 

The Cat and Mouse . . . . ; 99 

Warfare -„^ 

In the Bud j^^ 

^^•^^^^ '.'.'.'.'.'. 103 

What do the Waters Say? jqq 

Ever Eemembered ,^q 

Apostrophe to Love j^. 

To THE Friends op J. B. W jj2 

Alone 

A Day Dream ,j^ 

Idealism „. 

• • . . lib 

Beautiful Thoughts j^20 

A JTight Medley ,05 

The Last Page ^oo 




DEDICATION. 

To THE Dear Ones 
WHO have so long and so patiently cared for, and 

SUSTAINED ME AMIDST THE FAILING POWERS OF THIS 

LIFE ; AND TO THE MEMORY OF THOSE WHO WAIT 

IN THE BEAUTIFUL HOME OF THE SoUL, EVER 

LIFTING THE THOUGHTS OF MY HEART 

UPWARD, THESE EFFORTS OF MY 

OWN WHICH HAVE BEEN MADE TO 

ENABLE ME THE BETTER TO BEAR THE BURDEN 
OP INVALIDISM ARE MOST AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 




WHAT IS POETRY? 



Translated songs of birds, of brooks, and silent things, 
Truths grand and sweet, attuned with sorrows, joys. 

And measured off by beats of hearts whose quivering strings 
Vibrate and thrill with life that never cloys. 

Orono, Me., April 18, 1890. 










A HEART THOUGHT. 



A thought went out from my heart to thee, 

Went eveu as a prayer ; 
Did it reach thee in the sunshine bright, 
Or come in the twilight hush of night. 

To banish dreary care? 



Did it shed o'er thee in twinkling stars 

Its light, unchanging, true? 
Did it thrill through happy song-bird's notes, 
When matins or vespers swelled their throats, 

A single note you knew ? 



POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

Did it whisper in the gentle breeze 

Its message unto thee? 
Was it borne to thee on wings of sleep? 
Or did it in midnight watches keep 

Thee silent company? 

Or was this thought in the rush and whirl 

Of countless thoughts which go 
Like the changing wind, now P^ast, now West, 
Lost in its flight, 'mong the worst and best, 
Buffeted to and fro? 

1 may not know if it ever found 

Way from my heart to thine, 
Yet I trust it did not come to naught. 
Since howe'er so small, no true heart thought 

Is lost to Thought Divine. 



SUMMER WOOD CALLS. 



I. 

Come in awhile and rest, thou footsore one ! 
Come from the dusty road, and burning sun ! 
I've little cooling brooks where thou canst lave, 
And bright, sweet savored plums have I to save 
Who eats from hunger-pangs ; I've yielding mounds 
Uprising from my level vine-clad grounds. 
Where thou canst sit, or at thine own will lie 
And look above and through me to the sky. 
Where flit anon white winged airy clouds 
As thoughts go through the brain in idle crowds 
Unthought. Come from the restless moving throng 
Into my quiet heart where low, wild song 
Of woodland birds shall lull thee into dreams 
Of by-gone days e'er the sun's brilliant gleams 
Had wearied thee ! — for so it is forsooth — 
What we call bright in happy, care-free youth 
Seems glare as we grow tired, and more of length 
y\ Is in our miles when we have less of strength. 
Come thou and rest in me a brief, sweet while 
And gather strength for each on-coming mile ! 



10 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABING. 

II. 

Come, little children, come, laugh, shout and sing, 
Till my hearts stilly depths shall wake and ring 
With your gladsome young voices ! Come, here grows 
For you the pink and white arbutus blows ! 
Already the swift-footed, sweet lipped Spring 
Has kissed, as she passed, each slumbering thing 
Into life. Now gather, and garlands weave, 
Now spread your May feast, your waste crumbs to leave 
For my chirping squirrels, and singing birds 
Whose thanks are as real as your spoken words ; 
Come, hang on my branches your dear-loved swing 
And fly to and fro on its ropen wing? 
Now some one "run under," now "old cat die" 
'Neath the softened light of my blue-green sky, 
. Come children, come, crown your laughing-eyed queen ! 
My blossoms are fairer than gems I ween — 
Yes, steal, roguish boy, from her lips a kiss, 
To mortal is granted not too much bliss. 
And Spring-days are fleeting ; come shout with glee 
I'm young enough, children, to laugh with thee. 



SUMMER WOOD GALLS. 11 

III. 
Come, thou world-weary one, from fret and jar ! 
In my sweet-scented home is nought to mar 
The deathless life within. Come tarry here 
And learn of any treasures hid, lessons dear! 
Look how the earth puts forth her works unseen ! 
See, thou discouraged one, the grasses green 
Grow humbly on, trod down by careless feet, 
Yet springing up again with patience sweet ! 
Take heart ! See how the perfume-laden breeze, 
Caressing thee beneath my shading trees, 
Bears on its cooling sweets o'er vale and hill ! 
Learn thou, of it, to do the Father's will ! 
As ivy-tendrils to my tree trunks cling 
Around the strength of all thy weakness fling ! 
Then shalt thou find thy toll bringing thee rest ; 
Strength, self-supported, is but weak at best- 
Dear heart, the earth is full of fair retreats ; 
Turn thou to them, thus forgetting its cheats ! 
Come, heal thy bruised wounds with Nature's balm 
Come, and thy restless heart, in my heart, calm ! 



12 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

IV. 

Come, thou who wouldst sing songs of lasting truth 
And inspiration find, in me, for youth, 
For age, for ripened hearts, and hearts half -blown 
For joy and sorrow, and for pain unknown ! 
Come and thine unborn thoughts shall spring to life, 
In my sequestered books with sweet things rife ! 
Learn how the All-Love gives without return 
And teach it to the hearts that throb and burn 
With longings unattained ! See flowers bright 
Spring into life from Death ! dark wintry' night. 
Then comfort mourning hearts ! Strive less for fame 
Than that thou shouldst the love of God proclaim. 
For all things else are changed ! List to my rhyme ! 
My wee wood-blossoms speak, my blue-bells chime ; 
Learn thou, of them, to fit thy word-wrought lays, 
Into some song which shall out-live thy days ! 
Countless the psalms of my zephyr-stirred pines, 
Come, thou, and frame them in beautiful lines ! 
Show the sense-bounded world its own great soul ! 
Open, O poet, its eyes to the world 1 



SEND ME A THOUGHT. 13 



SEND ME A THOUGHT . 



Send me a thought when day is dawning, 

Each thought of thine, for me, has power, 
Send it upon the arms of morning, 

'Twill aid me through each coming hour. 
A single thought of earnest pleading 

No cloud can hide, no wind delay, 
Since One there is who grants all needing — 

Send me a thought at dawn of day. 

Send me a thought when day grows stronger. 

Lest with its burden I grow weak ; 
To one who waits the hours are longer, 

send a thought my soul to seek ! 
There's naught can come between, or sever 

Thy thought from me — O send among 
The thoughts which hearts beat out forever, 

A thought for me when day grows strong. 



14 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

Send me a thought, when day is lying 

Asleep on twilight's tender heart, 
When night, on shadow-wings is flying 

O'er pleasure's way and toil's rude mart ; 
When thou hast sought thy slumber-pillow, 

When for a blessing thou dost pray, 
Send me a thought on love's strong billow, 

A prayerful thought at close of day. 



AUTUMN. 



Autumn leaves are softly falling, 

Summer time is past ; 
Voices of the night are calling 

Day is done at last. 

Weary hands are quiet lying, 

Earthly toiling done ; 
No more sorrow, sin, or dying, 

Victory is won. 



ODE TO THE PENOBSCOT BIVEB. 16 



ODE TO THE PENOBSCOT BIVEB. 



Fair Penobscot, dear-loved river, 

I liave seen thee noisy, still, 
I have had sweet dreams beside thee, 

Thoughts foreboding direst ill. 
I have waded in thee, barefoot 

With a child's half-scared delight, 
Sailed upon thy quivering bosom 

When the moon was shining bright. 

I have skimmed thy frozen surface 

Through long sparkling winter hours, 
Every nerve and pulse rejoicing 

In the fullness of youth's powers. 
I have gathered flowers beside thee. 

Given thee in turn my tears, 
Found thee ever true, unchanging, 

Through the ever changing years. 

I have listened to thy murmur 

Through long days and nights of pain, 
Heard thee in thy moods unquiet 

Set thy song to minor strain. 



16 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABING. 

Though thy waves have been tossed backward 
By the winds that restless blow, 

Thou hast never paused rebellions, 
But kept on with patient flow. 

Thou hast taught me many lessons, 

Bitter, sweet, and sadly dear ; 
Oft I've turned, in silence, to thee, 

Breathing out my hope and fear. 
To me, thou art ever saying 
In thy never-ending song, 
"Move ! for only lives on-moving 

Reach Life's ocean grand and strong ." 



THE FOUNTAIN. 17 



THE FOUNTAIN. 



(a tale of GERMANY.) 

Within a province old, a castle mountain 

O'erlooked a city quaint from its proud height ; 

From out its side there gushed a sparkling fountain 
Of waters famed to cure e'en failing sight. 

And 'twas believed, beyond its power of healing, 
That voice it had, alike for man and maid, 

Whose magic tones, unlocking and revealing. 
Once heard within the heart, must be obeyed. 

By ivied walls the fountain was surrounded, 
Gigantic linden branches o'er it swayed — 

The fairest thing the castle-garden bounded. 
It laughed in sunshine and in shadow played. 

Within the castle dwelt a ruler, lordly, 

Obeyed and feared in all the province vast ; 

A stern, proud man, believed to be ungodly, 
Who yielded seldom once his word was passed. 



18 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

Not once, but many times, he'd loudly chidden 
The simple folk for heeding such a tale ; 

In vain — they drew in secret, when forbidden — 
Against the water's charms, naught could avail. 

Then ordered he pulled down the structure olden. 
And buried in the earth the waters bright. 

Alas ! No more beneath the sunshine golden, 

The fount would sport with breezes soft and light. 

More vexed than all the rest, a lovely maiden, 
(Somewhat dependent on the ruler she) 

Who, when 'twas said, went to the fount grief laden, 
To bid farewell to its low murm'ring glee. 

She found the master there, sarcastic, cruel, 
Yet boldly she advanced with flashing eye. 

"Were I a man" she said, "I'd fight a duel. 
The fountain's life I'd save, or with it die." 

He turned on her a look- of mild derision, 

"So you believe in children's tales," sneered he. 

"Revoke," she cried enraged, "your harsh decision. 
You must, I will not suffer it to be ! 



THE FOUNTAIN. 19 

" 'Tis better far that harmless superstition 
Should evermore the simple minded sway, 

Than that your selfish, ruthless disposition 

Should still the dear-loved fountain's voice for aye." 

Then suddenly died out the angry flashing 

From eyes, with sorrow's wistful tear grown dim, 

As, turning from the snow-white spray up-dashing. 
She lifted them in mute appeal to him. 

He speaks no word — the sweet toned bells are ringing, 
The sound floats upward on the summer air ; 

The music of the fount, the bird's soft singing, 
Sound, e'en to cynic ears, like low-voiced prayer. 

"I did not know" — at last — "it gave you pleasure 
I will retract my word, the fount shall stay. 

The "magic voice" attuned to new sweet measure. 
Had found a hearing in one heart that day. 

She met his eye, her heart leaped up affrighted ; 

What change is this ? and is it joy or pain ? 
Ah, maiden fair, you are forever plighted 

To this stern man — the "voice" has spoke again. 



20 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

Then far and farther from the castle-mountain 
The world receded with its lurid gleam. 

Lulled by the low, weird chanting of the fountain, 
They two were lost to strife in deep, deep dream. 

And still, within the garden's sweet seclusion, 
The fount throws up its jets in sportive play : — 

The firmest heart must yield to Love's intrusion. 
Must hearken when he voices yea or nay. 



ASSOCIATION. 



'Tis not for thy beauty little grass lone. 
Not for thy fragrance, for that is all gone ; 
Nor yet for thy usefulness, withered spear ! 
Then why, and for what art thou cherished here 

Thou art a reminder of one fair day, 
Of the dear loved friend, who stole thee away 
From thy waving companions, breeze-caressed. 
And treasured, because thou art mem'ry blessed. 



THE DULLEST. 21 



THE DULLEST. 



[Shade and shine are ever in the things complete; yet do we claim the 
bright as our due, and make moan because of days dull, half forgetting that 
the dullest day is needed to finish out the week, and Spring and Autumn are 
in twelve months, which make the year]. 

Gay songs are sung of budding May, 

By poets, and the birds. 
While of her sister June, they say 

Still brighter, sweeter words ; 
July, the blithe warm-hearted youth 

Is well-beloved by all, 
Nor does the languid maid of truth 

Get praises, few or small. 

For, resting in September's arms, 

She glows, beneath his kiss ; 
And gives to us perfected charms, 

A dreamy, half -sad bliss, 
And when with strong and helpful hand 

October comes along. 
Right joyously throughout the land 

Rings out the harvest song. 



22 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

November has not much to do, 

What wonder he is dull, 
The naked branches meet his view 

No bloom is left to cull ; 
The birds are silent, skies are drear, 

What wonder he is sad ? 
Indeed he's dullest of the year, 

December is more glad. 

The brooks are dumb, he sees but blight, 

Has more of night than day, 
Has but the dream of lost delights 

To cheer his lonely way ; 
He's forced to walk on Summer's grave 

Without the Winter's white 
And downy robes his limbs to save 

From Jack Frost's cruel bite. 

While we give thanks for garnered store, 

We wish he would away ; 
We must regret it more and more 

That he's so unlike May. 
Poor old November's dull and slow 

He'll ever be, I fear ; 
Yet should he darker duller grow, 

Without him there's no year. 



JOYFUL NEWS. 23 



JOYFUL NEWS. 



Once again, with prayer and singing 

Do we celebrate the birth, 
Of the Christ-child who came bringing 

Good will to the sons of earth ; 
Sound abroad, from tower and steeple 

Christmas bells, your tones of cheer, 
Joy shall be to every people 

Through this Gift, so great and dear. 

"Fear not, fear not," said the angel, 

It is joyful news I bring, 
For this manger-born Evangel 

Let your praises loudly ring. 
Now is born a Saviour tender, 

Now is born an earthly guide, 
Helper, Brother, and Defender, 

Of mankind so sorley tried. 

Comforter of friends here parted 

From the ones from whom they yearn, 

Healer of the broken hearted 
Who to him for healing turn. 



24 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABING. 

Strength, and rest, for worn and weary, 
Courage for the hearts who fail. 

Light on pathways dark and dreary, 
Peace when tempests fierce assail. 

Tell it o'er, the old sweet story ! 

Sing, O little children, sing ! 
For God gave this Son of glory, 

Happiness on earth to bring ; 
Let no sound of worldly chidings. 

Come our Christmas joys to mar ! 
Ring O bells, ring out the tidings, 

Send the blessed news afar ! 



SMILE TROV ON ME. 



SMILE THOU ON ME. 



The earth needs not the Sun's great light ; 

The bird needs not the sheltering tree, 
So much as I, when Day takes flight, 
Have need of thee. 

Your smallest frown would hurt my heart; 

I hunger for each smile from thee, 
O Love, do not from me depart, 
But smile on me ! 

Smile thou on me ! Be thou my sun ! 

Burn out my fears in thy strong light ! 
Let us forever more be one 

In Love's great might. 



26 FOEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABING. 



COMPENSATION. 



Park and field, and dewy woods, 
Ring with songs of happy birds. 

Songs of love and light. 
Up from cold, and dark, and sleep, 
Sweet arbutus blossoms creep, 

Dainty pink and white. 

Brooklets laugh, and leap, and play, 
Ev'ry sunny lengthened day 

Seeks to make amends 
For the somber, weeping days. 
For the cold and cheerless rays 

Winter ever sends. 

With the zephyrs' soft caress. 
With the beauties come to bless, 

Hope wakes in the heart. 
That in heaven's faii'er bowers. 
We shall find unfading flowers, 

From all thorns apart. 



COMPENSATION. 27 

That each starved and broken life, 
Weary grown with toil and strife, 

Bowed beneath the cross, 
May find there unending joy, 
Happiness without alloy, 

Compensating loss. 

For as flowers live and grow, 
Even come to bloom 'neath snow, 

So immortal souls 
Shall from darkness come to light, 
Find a springtime ever bright, 

Reach the earth-missed goals. 



28 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



THE REASON. 



'How unsearchable are His Jutigments, and His ways past finding out." 

—Romans, 11 : 33. 

We know that we should thank Thee, Lord for all, 
But we are weak, and pain is hard to bear, — 

Wiien one we love has gone beyond recall, 
Can we be thankful for the empty chair? 

We know we may Thy loving kindness trust, 
Yet earthly loves are dear, and friends so few. 

We bear to part with them because we must. 
And seldom hold their greater good in view. 

"Come, weary ones," we hear, "and thou shalt rest !" 

Yet hard it is to stifle longing's cry. 
The while we toil for those who love us best, 

And whom we love, in vain, to satisfy. 

We see thy many promises fulfilled, 

See Summer follow Spring, and harvest, seed ; 

Yet do we faint with hunger, who have tilled. 
And often fall without Thy seeming heed. 



THE SEASON. 29 

We know Thou art the great essential Light, 
Unchanged, unchanging, yet we turn away, 

Forgetting that the stars, though shining bright, 
Are always quenched in brighter light of day. 

We know, whate'er we need, that wilt thou grant, 
Yet we entreat Thee, oft, for doubtful good, 

And sadly sigh, because the seed we plant 
Bears tardy fruit, and little understood. 

Dear Lord, why so? Because we cannot see? 

Ay, more than this, we cannot understand 
Such love as Thine, though we from evil flee. 

And scorn as best we may, self's outspread hand. 

Can members of the body know the soul ? 

Thou art the Soul of all, of all the life ; 
Thy ways we may not know — we know the goal, 

When reached, excludes all sin, all pain, all strife. 



30 POEMS BT ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



SONGS FOR SAD ONES. 



O sing your sweetest, little bird ! 

Your songs are for the sad ; 
Your trills exquisite are unheard, 

Unheeded by the glad. 
Go, gentle breezes, lay a kiss 

Upon the pain-lined brow ! 
The hearts that throb with eager bliss 

Need not your love, I trow. 

Moisten, soft rain, the lids that burn, 

And ache with tears unshed ! 
Shine, tender stars, on hearts that yearn 

For vanished lights instead ! 
Sail, fleecy clouds, before the sun, 

Lest its bright light should tire 
The weary toilers who have done 

Much they could not desire. 



SONGS FOP SAD ONUS. Si 

O blossom for the lonely heart, 

Dear flower, small and white ! 
The merry know you not apart 

From weeds that quickly blight ; 
Yet you have fragrance rare and pure, 

For those who walk in shade, 
And beauty that will long endure. 

When roses droop and fade. 

The many sorrow, not the few — 

Sing sweet, for sad ones, bird ! 
Joy would grow old, if hearts but knew 

Her smile and cherry word. 
'Tis not the dazzled eyes who know 

Where sweetest things are found, 
Then blow, my wee white blossom, blow ! 

Though scarce above the ground. 



32 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



DEATH. 



Impartial Death ! the pauper and the king 

Must meet thy presence chill, yet in thy hand 
Is found the key to that fair, promised land. 

And short the time we must, in terror, cling 
To thee before thou wilt, in kindness, bring 

Us face to face with loved who waiting stand 
To welcome us into their happy land. 

And teach us how unfettered souls can sing. 

Oft dost thou come to us in fearsome guise, 
Stealing our dearest, fairest things away ; 

Yet dost thou free sad hearts and open eyes 
To light — the light of that unclouded day 

Which follows thy brief night. Since Christ arose 
We know thou wilt a brighter life unclose. 



MOUNTAINS. 33 



MOUNTAINS. 



There lived a dame, of unknown name, 

Beside a mountain small; 
With right good will she wished the hill 

To crumble down, or fall ; 
But o'er and o'er it vexed her sore, 

Nor did it lesser grow — 
"There is a way," she said one day, 

"To move that hill, I know." 

Who prays with faith, the Master saith, 

From him will evil flee — 
I'll kneel and pray at close of day, 

"Be ye removed from me ! " 
And so she did yet 'twas not hid 

But met at morn her view — 
Then did she speak, with voice not weak, 

"It would be there I knew." 

We have our mounts, and bitter founts. 

We pray with faith as small 
If we but knew— had Truth in view 

They'd be not ills at all ; 
They will not go, while we but know 

That they are mountains, Lord, 
O help us see that evils flee 

When we with Thee accord ! 



34 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



S OME TIME.— (Song) . 



Sometime each heart shall know its own ; 

Each life some day be filled, 
Perfected love in truth be known 

And passions fierce be stilled. 
'Tis then, O Love, thou wilt have need, 

If thou art mine ; of me 
Then will my heart rejoice in deed 

That it was given thee. 

Chorus. 
Sometime, sometime, I wait, I wait, 

P^or love to be complete : 
Sometime, sometime, or soon, or late, 

It shall be so my sweet. 

Apart we walk the earthly way, 

I cannot cheer or aid ; 
I cannot smile or weep with thee 

Caressed and unafraid. 
Sometime perhaps, and so I wait; 

Sometime, ah, word so sweet ! 
Love soars beyond Death's freeing gate. 

And waits its own to meet. — [Cho.] 



tSA. 35 



ISA. 



(a PERSIAN romance). 

[Note. — At the celebrated battle of Kudseah nearly all the Persian army, 
one hundred thousand strong, fell. The Arabs lost three thousand men. The 
battle of Nahavund decided the fate of Persia, when out of an army of one 
hundred and fifty thousand men thirty thousand fell pierced by the lances of 
the Arabs; and eighty thousand in retreating were drowned]. 



Azor, a Persian warrior, noble, brave. 
His love to Sharah's only daughter gave ; 

And she, fair Isa, loved him more than life, 
Yet they were parting — he must go to strife. 

•'Beloved, we part," he said, "O bitter pain ! 

The Arabs must be met on Kudseah's plain ! 
Pray righteous Allah, mine, that in this fight 

The victory be given to the right." 

" 'Twill soon be o'er, then I'll return," he said. 
Her heart beat slowly neath its weight of dread ; 

"Be brave, my beautiful, be brave to tell 
Thy lover (who must go) a brief farewell." 



36 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABING. 

She flung around his neck one fair white arm ; 

Drew from her breast a fretted golden charm 
Which she placed near his heart to be a shield 

"In danger's hour," she said, "on battle field." 

A clash of cymbals through the silence came — 

"The call ! " Her palid lips breathed Allah's name, 

Then hand in hand with neither moan nor tear. 
They sought his faithful steed that waited near. 

"O carry him to victory, Rakush ! 

Help him, dear steed, the enemy to crush ! " 
One last fond kiss, one fervent low farewell. 

And he was gone — the lover loved so well. 

"Alone, ah me, alone ! " the maiden moaned ; 

"Not so" — the whispered answer, tender-toned, 
"Thy Maridah is near, dear sister, friend ! 

Together, let us pray Allah, to send 

"His angel Peace these cruel wars to stay." 

Poor Maridah— her lover rode away 
To come no more, for in the deadly strife, 

His heart was stilled upon an Arab's knife. 



ISA. 37 

A sweet, a helpful friend was Maridah ; 

Her love was balm for wounds which bar 
The heart from joy. — The saddest of the sad 

Are oft the ones to make the hurt souls glad. 

But waiting times, however cheered, are drear; 

And Isa's heart knew less of hope, than fear ; 
For her betrothed came not, and lurid gleams 

Of bloody strife, lit up her fevered dreams. 

Imagination, colored by suspense, 

Led her a life of suffering most intense ; 
She saw her lover, pierced by scimetar, 

And heard his dying moan, "Allah ! akbar ! " ' 

Her blushes paled, her step grew feeble, slow ; 

Her restless soul burned in her eyes' bright glow ; 
And yearningly looked out, as if afar, 

It could, perchance, discern through dark, its star. 

And where was he for whom the maiden pined ? 

Sore wounded, and by Arab bands confined ; 
Brave to the last, among the last to fall. 

Was this brave chief, who animated all. 

' O God ! save me ! 



38 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEATilNG. 

Helped by a ransomed one, these words he sent ; 

"Beloved, I live ! Hope on ! wait on content ! " 
They reached the fading girl in time to save 

Her from an earl}^, yet a wished for, grave. 

"Can we not buy him back — our Persian chief?" 
She knelt before her father in her grief ; 

"The Caliph Isthakar has much of power ; 
O seek him father ! wait not a single hour ! 

The King, touched by her grief, the Caliph sought, 
"Thy terms ! thy terms ! if Azor can be bought ! " 

Said Isthakar : "Give thou thy child to me, 
And Azor shall come back again to thee." 

The price struck heavy on the maiden's ears, 
Yet she, to save her love from exiled years. 

Consented, calmly fixed the nuptial day. 

"He must, he must be free ! and there's a way 

To save myself, and free my lover too ; 

To bricg him back to his dear loved Merou •, 
A way, a way to open wide the gate 

That shuts me in, with such a cruel fate." 



ISA. 39 



II . 



The morning of the bridal day had come : 

From stately roof, and spire, and polished dome, 

Gay banners flung their folds against the blue 
Of that fair dome above beyond Merou. 

Soft breezes wooed the jasmine buds to blow, 
And sunbeams kissed the roses into glow ; 

But Isa, like a flower dead, unblown, 

With eyes from which the light of joy had flown. 

Looked on as one, who seeing, could not see ; 

As one who, being, yet had ceased to be ; 
And when had come the bridegoom, Isthakar, 

She hid, within her breast, a poisoned jar. 

"Farewell, beloved ! O Allah kind, forgive ! 

Farewell, beloved ! a free man thou shalt live ! 
Death is the bridegroom Isa goes to meet ! 

Farewell, beloved ! to die for thee is sweet." 

These words she spake, ere in the marriage hall 
She stood with Isthakar before them all ; 

The contract read, she signed the fatal deed. 
That Persia's bravest warrior might be freed. 



40 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

Before the altar next must Isa vow 

"Till death shall part us — as we marry now ; " 

To Maridah she gave one fond caress, 

Then quickly drew the jar from neath her dress. 

When — Hark ! Azor ! What means this thrilling cry, 
Which to the marble entrance draws each eye, 

.Where, pale as death, he stands with upraised hand — 
"Isa ! thy vow ! what means this nuptial band? 

"Live I to see my lily thus defiled?" 

His voice was strained and hoarse, his dark eye wild, 
" 'Twere better far, a lance had pierced my heart, 

Than I be forced to live from thee apart." 

"Be not deceived," she cried, with thine own thought; 

"No other way thy freedom could be bought ; 
And — Death's the bridegroom now awaiting me ; 

Beloved," she moaned, "my heart was true to thee." 

With softened eye Azor now swiftly sped 
To Isa's side, drew to his breast her head, 

Dashed from her hand the fatal poisoned jar, 
In silence, questioned silent Isthakar. 



TWO DAYS. 41 

"Yes, Love has made her thine, thine own true mate." 
TheD quick he tore the deed, an act so great. 

That from the crowd went up one loud huzza 
For Persia's chief, and Arab Isthakar. 

And they who knelt before the marriage shrine, 
Were wed indeed, for love, God's gift divine, 

Binds hearts so close they cannot be estranged 

And outlives every change, 'e'en Death unchanged. 



TWO DATS. 



One fair and sweet from early morn, 

'Till stars in Night's great heart were born, 

And dew drops slept in flowers. 
The other, dark with somber clouds, 
That came from East and West in crowds, 

Through all its dreary hours. 



42 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



THE LAST SONG. 



While raindrops beat against my window pain, 
There fluttered to the sill a lonely bird, 
Who sang the sweetest song I ever heard 

From feathered throat, a glad triumphant strain 

.Seemed swelling, thrilling through the blithe refrain. 

I stretqhed my hand to draw him close beside, 

When, with the last sweet note, the singer died. 

And then 1 knew he sang to hide his pain ; 

Yet wondered much that song, so gay and free, 
Should swell the tiny breast, where lay concealed 
The grevious hurt, my careful search revealed. 

As this one, which had covered agony. 

Some — like the dying bird — sing blithe and ga^' 
While hidden wounds, alas ! sap life away. 



IF WE COULD SEE. 43 



IF WE COULD SEE. 



If we could see the briers in our pathway, 
We should step over them, and not upon ; 

If we could see beneath the fair, sweet roses, 
Our fingers would not bleed from prick of thorn. 

When present cares oppress and sorely grieve us. 

If we could see the future coming joy, 
So bright 'twould seem, in its contrasting beauty. 

That bitterness and pain would less annoy. 

If we could see how heavy hang the shadows. 
That we might lift, above another's head. 

We would not brood o'er clouds that seem to lower, 
But help our brother into light, instead. 

If we could see how careless words have power 
To hurt the hearts we love, or give them bliss, 

We would not speak so quickly, in our anger. 
Nor, in our pride, withold the longed-for kiss. 



44 FOE MIS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

If we could see why some have fallen, 

While others, tempted just the same, stood strong, 
.Should we condemn? Ah no, the sweet compassion 

Christ had for sinners, would to us belong. 

If we could see His wisdom, ill chastisements, 
We should not murmur so beneath the rod ; 

Then should we see, in smallest joys and sorrows. 
The ever-loving, guiding hand of God. 

'Tis light we need — the light of love, O Father ! 

Open our eyes, that we, no longer blind, 
May find, with this thy greatest gift to aid us, 

vSome good e'en in the meanest of mankind. 



A NAMELESS GBAVE. 45 



A NAMELESS GBAVE. 



We stood by the side of a low- worn grave, — 
None knowing the name of the soldier brave, 
Whose life was given, his country's life to save. 

None came to deck, with flowers, this lonely mound ; 
Nor did fond hearts, recall with low, sad sound, 
The words and ways of one who had been found. 

Upon the field of battle, wounded, slain. 

While loved ones longed for him, to come, in vain 

And mourned, for him, with never ending pain. 

"Alas ! " we sighed, "no laurels here are laid ; " 
Yet, as we grieved, and for the nameless prayed. 
He was remembered and a tribute paid. 

A mother-bird, who had builded her nest • 
In a tree close -by, was singing her best. 
And the blossoms fell, on this grave, to rest. 

Be comforted, sad heart ! One notes the fall 
Much more of soldier brave, than birdie small : 
None will be nameless at the Father's call. 



46 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



TO AN ABSENT FRIEND. 



I am coming now my blessing 

With my heart ; 
Not with kisses fond, caressing, 

Where thou art, 
But with written words expressing 

Love's own part. 

Not with arms around thee flinging 

Face to face ; 
Not with hands to thine own clinging 

Nor embrace, 
But with tender thoughts upspringing 

From Love's grace. 



8UMMEB TWILIGHT. 47 



SUMMER TWILIGHT. 



As the darkest hour of nature 

Comes before the break of dawn, 
So the sweetest hour greets us 

When the sun's last ray is gone. 
Twilight hours of ev'ry season < 

Touch the weary world with balm, 
But the gloamings of the summer 

Come with tender, holy calm. 

In the softly perfumed twilight, 

Checked are bitter, angry words, 
Hushed the sound of strife and turmoil, 

Silent grow the little birds. 
Bees have ceased their langu'rous humming 

In the parks and woodland bowers, 
And the gentle dews of even 

Kiss and bless the sleeping flowers. 



48 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

Nature's calm, calms human nature, 

Wond'ring grows our ev'iy thought 
How much fairer can be Heaven, 

Since God's loving hand hath wrought 
In the earth such perfect beauty ? 

Will it always summer be 
In that land of blissful promise 

Far beyond life's stormy sea. 

Sad, you say, this precious twilight? 

Yes, but sweeter, dearer far 
Than the busy hum of midday 

With its ceaseless fret and jar. » 
Weariness, 'tis true, comes o'er us 

At the closing of the day. 
But some thought, born of the hour, 

Soothes the restlessness away. 

Now, we gather wisdom, patience. 

In the summer twilight sweet. 
Now, less thorny seems the pathway 

To our wand'ring, erring feet; 
Now, to bear the present burden. 

Greater strength do we attain, 
Strength to do to-morrow's duty 

When it is to-day again. 



A COMMENT ON SHE. 49 

Thankful hearts are filled with rapture 

In the twilight's magic spell, 
Parted friends, in thought, are nearer 

To the ones they love so well. 
Aided, softened by the hour. 

We forgive and are forgiven. 
Happy, peaceful summer twilight ! 

I have likened thee to Heaven. 



A COMMENT ON ''SHE." 



A lie ? perhaps it is yet one must own 
The writer had in head and heart the truth, 
And understanding both of age and youth. 

The story has a soul, though 'tis o'ergrown 

By weeds of sense and nonsense thickly sown ; 
The Amahagger's need of law and ruth 
Hardly exceeds the civil man's forsooth, 

Whose "hot-pots" oft on helpless heads are thrown. 

And there are many She's who would to-day 
Walk into fire, to have their own sweet way 
E'en though they shrivel up to monkey-size 
He's fooled by witching lips and sparkling eyes. 
And made to bow like jacks to some soft yea 
Half-meant " She" is a truth wrought lie, / say. 



50 POEMS BY ANiVIE B. SPEABINa. 



LOVE FRATERNAL. 



A love that's warm and tender, 

And, as a mother's, pure ; 
A love that's brave, unselfish. 

And patient to endure ; — 
Like Infinite compassion, 

It sees the better part 
Of man 'neath masks of error, 

Which hide the human heart. 

No envying nor malice 

Is found within this love 
A chain, it links Earth's lowly 

To Heaven's high, above. 
It raises up the fallen. 

Let's not the stumbling fall, — 
It trustfully embraces 

Mankind as brothers all. 



LOVE FBATEENAL. 51 

The strong should aid the weaker, 

~ That both may stronger grow, 
The eyes of quick perception, 

Should spectacle the slow. 
Are we not made to differ? 

Who has the greater light 
Is but the greater sinner. 

Should he turn from the right. 

It smiles, this love, with gladness 

Upon a friend's success ; 
It weeps, this love, with sadness 

For human bitterness. 
It knows the sin from sinner. 

It breeds no smallest sin. 
But blooms, 'mong weeds, a flower, 

Whose fragrance can but win. 

Have we this love, my brother? 

(This blossom fair and sweet?) 
'Tis greater than all other 

To make life true, complete ; 
God gave, to us, a Brother 

That we might know His Love 
Lived on and on forever. 

On earth, in heaven above. 



52 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



SILENT INFLUENCE. 



I do not have thee when my sunshine-dazzled eyes 
Look out upon the busy-moving throng, 

Nor do I have thee when my restless heart denies 
The soothing power of Nature's wordless song. 

Thou art not with me when the hot and blinding tears 
O'erflow my reason in their onward flood, 

Nor when I lose my better self, mid doubts and fears, 
And harbor evil thoughts, in place of good. 

But when I live a moment undefiled 

Hear in my soul the still small voice of God 

So near thou art to Him, dear woman-child, 
I catch thy voice in that sweet silent chord. 

And soft blue eyes look tenderly on me. 
As if they fain would have me understand 

The truth of life and love as they can see. 

Would have me trust the Father's guiding hand. 



IDEAL FBIEND8HIP. 53 

Then I grow strong of heart, and bliss too deep for speech 
Is mine, that not too far from Heaven's shore 

Are we of earthly life for angel-love to reach, 
And bind the two together evermore. 

And all the after-time when weakness, strife and sin 
Keep thee from me, thine influence stays to bless, 

To verify my hope that I may some time win 
That which is thine, unending blessedness. 



IDEAL FRIENDSHIP. 



Now that 1 have thee, thou art ever near ; 
A gift from the All-Love, I hold thee, dear, 
Our ways may be apart, earth may divide, 
But Heaven, my friend, will find us side by side. 

I joy that what, from many, lies concealed. 
Has been to me, by my Love's light, revealed ; 
That I've no need to speak with studied word. 
Since thou canst understand my heart, unheard. 

If I go upward, in the scale of thought, 

I know that thou, in higher keys, hast wrought ; 

If I go down, I thankful feel for thee. 

That thou, dear heart, need'st not descend with me. 



54 POEMIS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



PRIDE. 



Tho' fond of self, thou'rt not an unkind friend, 
Thy read}' smile has often helped me hide, 
From scornful eyes, the hurt, they would deride. 

'Tis only when thou would'st that I shall send 

The arrow back, to pierce with venoraed end 
Another heart, that I thy mood would chide 
I've found thou e'er a true unerring guide 

Mid dangerous paths, and trials that attend. 

Tho' ever cold to patronizing ruth, 

Thou'rt not averse to Friendship's fond caress. 
Nor of a haughty mein before distress. 

Nor yet unyielding to the power of truth. 

Therefore, I pray whatever fate betide, 

Refuse me not thy kindly aid, O Pride ! 



ANGELS. 5f) 



ANGELS. 

Though we cannot see them. 

They'll come at our call ; 
God gives them the power 

To help each and all ; 
They come in our dangers, 

They come in our fears, 
They come in our sorrows 

To wipe away tears. 

With Conscience's white fingers 

The way is smooth paved ; 
When heeded, her whisper 

From sin has oft saved ; 
Resolve is an angel. 

When found by her side, 
And stern should he be. 

To banish fierce pride. 



56 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

Tbere's sweet, homely Patience, 

And beautiful Grace, 
We need them each moment, 

Let's give tliem a place ; 
For earth-hurts are many, 

And longings are vain, 
And strivings are useless, 

Without this fair twain. 

Look sharp at young Impulse ! 

Till he's understood ; 
He may be an angel — 

He is if he's good ; 
So often the satans 

Put on angel-guise 
To find out the spirit 

One needs watchful eyes. 

Love, God's brightest angel, 

Rich blessings will bring, 
For in her pure bosom, 

Is no evil thing ; 
Then let us call ever, 

To her ever cling. 
For Peace gentle angel, 

Abides 'neath her wing. 



A BOUQUET. 57 

God's angels are countless ; 

Each thought toward the right 
Is a white-winged spirit, 

To lead us to light. 
Then let us possess them, 

The great and the small 
The beautiful angels, 

Who wait but our call. 



A BOUQUET. 



In bits it was to me, by children, brought 

'Twas many hued, and like a dear-loved face, 
Delighted each time viewed, with some new grace ; 

And its sweet scents were sweeter for the thought 

That they, the happy little children, sought 

To cheer and comfort me. They told the place 
Where they had found each flower, that I might trace 

Their steps to well-known haunts, where once I- wrought. 

O children dear ! the disarranged bouquet 
Of daisies, buttercups, and lilies white. 
Wood-blossoms small, and roses wild and bright. 

Gathered for me that golden summer day. 

Made happier, for you, the after play, 

And gave me more than words of mine can say. 



58 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEAEING. 



DOUBT AND TRUST. 



DOUBT. 

We doubt, and Heaven, from us, seems far away. 
We cry, O God ! if such a being be. 
And from our lesser friends mistrustful flee ; 

We wander from the light of Truth's bright ray, 

Within the borderlands of Error stray. 

To speak a kindly word we scarce feel free, 
Nor can we kind, unselfish motives see 

When others gentle hands upon us lay. 

Suspense is brought to us on wings of fear, 
Forebodings fling their shadows dark and drear. 
Before the litle hopes that would come near. 
No freedom do we find from carping care. 
Clouds seem to threaten, though the day be fair, 
And not far off stands demon-eyed Despair. 



DOUBT AND TBU8T 69 



TRUST. 

We trust, and Heaven on earth, for us, begins. 

Truth sheds so bright a light upon our sins 
That we, affrighted, as a child of dark. 
Flee and aspire to reach the shining mark 

Set up by Faith's strong hands, and he who wins 
Finds peace and happiness in sweet surcease 
Of weariness and pain. Suspicions cease 

To crowd around us with their mocking grins. 

Then duty wears no melancholy face 
But rather gives to life an added grace. 
And Patience comes to bless each waiting place. 
White- winged thoughts live in the brightened mind, 
And like the unseen hand of angels, bind 
Our hearts in bonds of love to all mankind. 



60 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABING. 



DREAMS. 



When Sleep's caressing hand is on us laid 

And brief, sweet dreams shut out all care and strife- 
When we forget the wounds of Sorrow's knife, 

Is it not bliss to rest within the shade 

Of some retreat, where long ago we stayed ? 
To have our dear-loved dead in transient life, 
To live awhile free from temptations rife. 

Apart from sin, a being undismayed? 

Nor should we call them idle when — like flowers — 

They come to brighten evanescent hours, 
For what we were or what we long to be 
We are when fond Remembrance works her spell 

Alas ! that waves of stern reality 

Should break them into pieces in their swell. 



WAS IT A DBEAM 61 



WAS IT A DREAM ? 



Did longing give to me a dream of bliss ? 

Or didst thou come from thy new home to this 

To lay upon my lips the tender kiss 

That thrilled my heart? 
Can any thought of mine, draw thee to me? 
Can my weak eyes look through the mists and see 
The face, that, while this life goes on must be 

From me apart? 

Thy face had'st naught of shadow, all of shine, 
As thou came'st close, and bent it down to mine 
Weary with wishes for a sight of thine — 

Was it a dream? 
Ah, who can tell? May not that earth-freed band. 
Have power to touch their loved, with soothing hand? 
Sense cannot feel, nor mortal understand 
Souls' beauteous gleam. 



62 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



WHITE CLOVERS. 



Roses and lilies are blooming, 

Pansies are smiling bright ; 
The golden eye of the daisy 

Looks out from lashes white. 
The locust and sweet syringa 

Give forth their rich perfume, 
And down among grasses lowly 

The happy clovers bloom. 

How often we pass them over 

With careless, thoughtless tread. 
To gather the brighter blossoms, 

Abloom in dainty bed ; 
'Tis never classed with the flowers, 

This little blooming grass. 
And yet, in its sweet submission 

Should it unnoticed, pass? 



WHITE CL0VEB8. 63 

The rose speaks of grace and merit, 

Syringa, mem'ries bright ; 
The pansy of thoughts so tender, 

Lily, purity white. 
While every beautiful flower 

A message has, and plain, 
E'en the clover is not silent, 
. God's love, is its refrain. 

Its blossom nourish His creatures, 

Its beauty cheers the eye ; 
And perfume it gives unstinting, 

To every passer-by. 
All the little happy children 

Gather it unrestrained 
And bees, from out its bosom, 

Their honied sweets have gained. 

In the fields of fame, or learning, 

Not genius makes the man ; 
But faithful and earnest striving. 

To do the best he can. 
Not all may attain the highest, 

But each may humbly grow ; 
Content, like the sweet white clover, 

Because God wills it so. 



64 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



MIS UNDERS TO OD . 



"Why should'st thou fret, O restless, longing heart. 
Because misunderstood, or known in part? 
These earthly lives of ours, are short and small, 
And only God can understand them all. 

Thou would'st not wounded be, nor wound in turn, 
Nor for the unattained so fondly yearn, 
If thou could'st self forget, and strive to see 
The love unchanging, boundless, free. 

Earth-loves are dear, and hate is cruel, strong ; 

Yet that great Heart, whose throb thou art, said wrong, 

And sin, and even death, should pass away ; 

For every heart must own His potent sway. 

The things unsought, sometimes to us are sent 

To teach us none but babes are innocent. 

While hearts as true as thine, have burned and thrilled, 

And struggled on in pain, because God willed. 



MISUNDEBSTOOD. 65 

Misunderstood ? no longer be dismayed 

O weary heart ! Thy Saviour was betrayed 

By one He dearly loved, — one who professed 

His love, let come what would, should be confessed. 

Not known ? the smallest thought of thine t'wards right. 
Is upward borne, on angel-wings of light, 
To One who never will a heart deny. 
Nor fail, with love, a heart to satisfy. 



ALBUM SELEGTION. 



We have of pain and pleasure oft too much. 

Of truth and life, if what we know be such ; 

But Love-wrought souls for love must ever yearn, 

As must they give, nor can they e're discern, 

That they're enough. Dear Friend, give thine to me 

For humbly, proudly, give I mine to thee. 



66 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABING. 



ONLY A RAT. 



Only a Ray, a soft pure Ray 

Of never-ending light, 
An atom of the boundless Love 

Which brightens day and night ; 
'Tis true thou had'st of love and light 

Before was sent this Ray, 
But newer love and clearer light 

Was given thee, that day. 

Only a Ray, a shimmer bright. 

Yet does it shine for thee, 
Our prayer shall be that 'fore this Ray 

A 11 shadows dark may flee ; 
No sin it is to worship here. 

Where is no touch of guile, 
For God looks out of baby's eyes 

And smiles in babv's smile. 



FABEWELL OLD TEAB. 67 

O tiny Ray ! O love-light strong ! 

Shine through their every dark ! 
Love's holy circle widen out 

Thou won'drous little spark ! 
O, father, mother, through thy gift 

May all the earth have more 
Of light, now it (Ray) is shining here, 

Than e'er it had before. 



FABEWELL OLD YEAR! 



Farewell Old Year ! we're loth with thee to part, 
Yet ever must the old give place to new. 
We can but hope the new year'll prove as true 

A friend as thou ; as many joys impart ; 

Sorrows as few ; we cannot shield thy heart, 
Alas, from Greybeard Time's remorseless touch. 
Nor bid thee live, though loving overmuch, 

Since thou art pierced by Death's unerring dart. 

Though in thy place another year is sent, 
We'll not forget thy many perfect days ; 
Thy seasons rich, so full of gracious ways ; 

Forgive us if we marred, with discontent. 
Thy too short life ; and did not sooner tell 
Our love for thee ; O dying year farewell ! 



68 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



EASTER BELLS. 



Ring out, ring out, glad Easter bells ! 
While heaven and earth new praises sing. 
Proclaim, in loud and joyous swells. 
The message of the risen King ! 

He is not dead, but lives for aye, 
Ascended, draws all unto Him ; 
Points to a bright eternal day, 
Beyond Death's narrow portal dim. 

Hear, as of old the Saviour's voice, 
" I'll come again, " mourning heart ! 
And, with the bells, rejoice, rejoice ! 
For friends shall meet no more to part. 

Ring out, glad bells, glad Easter bells I 
Till error of its strength be shorn. 
Till doubting hearts forget to doubt, 
And Christ, in every heart be born. 



THE WOUNDED OWL. 69 



THE WOUNDED OWL. 



"An indiscreet friend is more dangerous than tlie naked sword of an enemy. 

Near a soft flowing river, one morning in June, 
The gentle Zerlina, her young heart attune, 
With sweet songs of thrushes, and low hum of bees, 
Strayed in a fair garden, where blossoming trees 
Gave their delicate fragrance to each wooing breeze. 

Where the flowers had smiled themselves dry in the sun, 
Where all things she came to, seemed happy save one, 
A poor wounded owl, who had hid 'neath a tree 
To languish alone, since unable to flee 
From light so unusual to such birds as he. 

Some pert sparrows twitting him, attracted the girl 

To where he sat blinking, his head in a whirl ; 

" No wonder you're sick, moping here in the shade, " 

Said she, as she took him and tenderly laid 

Him in warm glowing sunshine, for invalids made. 



70 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

Soon with piteous limps, which increased his sore pain, 
He hopped away slowly to shadow again ; 
"Poor wretch," sighed the maiden, "ills make him perverse, 
He's like many people who make themselves worse," 
So, she captured again this sick owl of my verse- 
He was now grown so ill, so annoyed by the glare. 
So greviously vexed by such mistaken care. 
That he folded his claw, submissive and meek, 
As though, if owls could, he would much like to speak. 
And expired with one gasp of his feeble old beak. 

There are some who, from shadow to sunlight, would come ; 

Bewildered and dazzled by splendor are some ; 

Ere sorrows of any we strive to amend, 

The nature of such, we should first comprehend. 

Not to be like Zerlina, an indiscreet friend. 



THE TRUTH. 71 



THE TRUTH. 



Borne in upon my mind this restful thought, 
Amid the whirl, and chaos error- wrought, 

That come what may, 

By night or day, 

Slowly or fast. 
Nothing, but truth, can last. 

" But what is false?" I cried, " and what is true?' 
Then came the answer back so plain I knew •, 
" Naught's true but love ; 

Since God above 

Is love and light. 
Seek, heart and find the right. " 

We, lesser lives, are but of Him a part. 
Are but the pulses of the All-Great Heart, 

When we can be 

At enmity 

With falsehood, sin, 
Shall heaven for us begin. 



72 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



UNFORGOTTEN. 



We walked together, you and I, 

One star-lit night in June, 
The birds had hushed to low love-notes 

Their day-songs' joyous tune ; 
The flowers slumbered, 'neath the dews. 

Each breath a perfumed sigh, 
And, as the far-off shining stars, 

We built our castles high. 

We told each other hopes and fears, — 
The fears that night were few, 

And brighter than its softened light 

The hopes we had in view. 

'Twas Summer then, what did we know 
Of Winter's tempest whirls ? 

Ah, we have drifted far apart 
Since you and I were girls. 



UNFOBGOTTEN. 73 

So far I know not if you joy 

Or if some sorrow keen 
Has dimmed the luster of your eyes 

So bright when mem'ry-seen ; 
So far I know not if you live 

Among Earth's sunny Junes, 
Or if you join — in Summer-land — 

The grand harmonious tune. 

But not so far that I forget 

And when the flower-sweet dew 
Gleams softly 'neath the stars of June 

Again I walk with you. 
Again I live that summer o'er, 

Again those happy days, 
Come from the unforgotten past 

And live in song birds' lays. 



74 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



ONLY A SHELL. 



[" And a little child shall lead them. "] 

Beside the silent figure stood we, grieving 

That never more was ours to know 
The wondrous joy of giving and receiving 

Love's precious gifts while here below. 

And while with grief our hearts were wrung and shaken, 

Our little dear one, Abbie said : 
" Say, mamma, say, what part of him is taken? 

Tell me, is this my papa dead ? " 

" The soul is taken, " said the stricken mother, 

" His body we must put away. " 
" And soul is life, " was added by another, — 

" Unending life, in Heaven's glad day. " 



ONLY A SHELL. 75 



As swift as summer clouds, by sun-bursts rifted, 
Pure thought, which children ever know ; 

The wisdom, sweet, with which so oft they're gifted, 
Gave her, what comes to us so slow. 

" My papa lives ! mamma cease thy weeping, 
Where angels are, he's gone to dwell ; 

In that bright Home, a watch for us he's keeping, 
This part is only papa's shell. " 

wondrous truth ! O grand, unchanging story ! 

Our dear ones live though out of sight ; 
Be patient, lonely hearts ! for sometime golden glory 

Shall change, to-day each dreary night. 



76 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



LOSS AND GAIN. 



When I was but a child, a sweet- faced sister, smiled, 

And then was hushed her glee. 
Her tender laughing eyes, as blue as summer skies, 
And little dimpled hands, as soft as silken bauds 

Grew cold — were shut to me. 

II . 

We had her, not for long, yet every simple song 

She sang, did 1 sing too ; 
And everywhere she went, my childish steps were bent ; — 
80, when they laid away, the tiny form of clay 

That, she was lost, I knew. 

III. 
" The little one's asleep : for her, do not weep ! " 

They said, to soften pain. 
But gone, it was, from sight, the face, so fair and bright, 
And silence, did abound, instead of joyous sound ; 

For which were longings vain. 



To-day my heart is still, beneath the Fathers will. 

For she has known but good ; 
And what, to me, seemed loss, a bitter heavy cross, 
Seems now a minor strain, completing Life's refrain ; — 

As yet not understood. 



TO A CAGED BIBD. 77 



TO A CAGED BIBD. 



I catch a minor note in thy song, little bird ; 
Art thou sad, that thy lay by the world is unheard? 
The world is cruel, sweet; its judgments harsh, severe; 
Oh, be content within thy cage to sing on here. 

If from thy home set free, thou could'st not soar aloft. 
Nor could'st thou happy be to coo, and murmur soft, 
Like the dove. Other birds would envy thy sweet strain. 
And harsh, discordant notes would fill thy life with pain. 

The freedom that thou sighest for, is little worth. 
Leave out, I pray, that note of pain, and sing with mirth ! 
Plume, with pride, thy feathers soft ; thy cage is gilded 
And better for thee, than nests by wild birds builded. 

The fierce wild winds and storms, would buffet thee about. 
And night would find thy little heart perplexed with doubt ; 
Believe me, it is better far, with me to stay. 
Than from thy home, secure, to wander far away. 



78 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABJNG. 



Thou art my pet, and naught from me hast thou to fear ; 
Thy wants by me are all supplied ; my praise sincere 
I give to thee, for every dance, and carol sweet ; 
For me there is no bird that can with thee compete. 

They why repine ? Thy lot is for me to sing. 
And not like other birds to spread thy wing ; 
Then do not sadly sing, but thrill a merry lay, 
And from my loving care seek not to fly away. 



CONTENT. 



Away with thee. Content ! tho' thou hast grace, 

Thou art too cold and passionless for me. 

I have no wish to solve the mystery 
Of thy serene and ever smiling face, 
Nor have thee, unto Longing's mood, give place. 

Made up thou art of unambitious glee, 

Without desire to wiser better be, 
And satisfied though beaten in Life's race. 

If thou should'st give thy fondest, truest love 
To one who should'st, to thee, the falsest prove, 
Thou could'st smile on the same. Whate'er is sent 
To thee, excessive thrills of joy or pain, 
Could never penetrate thy heart or brain ; 
'Mid graves of buried hopes, thou'rt still content. 



LEAF AND LEAFLET. 79 



LEAF AND LEAFLET. 



" O Leaf ! " a leaflet cried, " is this the Summer? " 
The leaf looked down upon the tardy comer, 
And in a weak, a half-pathetic whisper, 
Told how the birds had sung at morn and vesper. 
" E'en now," the old leaf said, " is Summer lying- 
in Autumn's arms, and slowly, calmly dying ; " — 
Then told how breezes soft of roses smelling 
Had gently hushed the birds- in each wee dwelling ; 
Told of bright azure skies ; of dawnings lowly ; 
Of twilights weird and witching, sunsets holy ; 
And midnights grand, when 'mid the flowers sleeping. 
Child-angels, strayed from home, went lightly creeping- 
For leaves held not, by sense, from higher seeing 
Although they droop and fade with Summer's being 
Know more, than we, who deem them all unknowing — 
All this, and more, the leaf filled to o'erflowing 
With knowledge of the growing time, gave gladly 
To its companion learning late and sadly 
Of joys which might have been — ah me, the yearning 
Forced natures have within their bosoms burning ! 



80 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



The days went on, and soon these two were lying 

Together on the ground. — " Child are we dying? " 

The old leaf asked in weak and mournful quiver. 

" I told thee of the past, now be thou giver, 

And tell me, pray, shall we, no more forever 

Sport with the breezes warm, and soft and clever? 

Shall we be tossed about by winds fierce blowing 

Oft left alone, to idly wait, unknowing 

What changes more, will all too soon be coming? 

O for the olden days, when bees went humming 

All day among the honey laden flowers ! " 

" Alas ! " the leaflet sighed, " my heart is thrilling 

With fearful pain, lest we, again, be filling 

Some harder place than this — there must be many- 

You've had your summer-time, I've had not any ! " 



LEAF AND LEAFLET. 81 



III. 
Words failed the leaflet here, self-pity, rising, 
Crushed out, all speech, begetting thoughts surprising, 
Awaking in the heart a wondrous longing 
For comfort-words to give, which soon came thronging 
And Faith's dulled eyes were given clearer seeing, 
Self turned from self unto the source of being. 
" Let's ask the Tree ! " then knelt they humbly pleading, 
Receiving answers meet for inner needing ; 
" Be sure, O Leaflet! Summer's richest treasure, 
Shall, sometime, be thine own in fullest measure, 
And thou, O faithless Leaf, why should'st thy borrow 
Of this brief waiting time, such hopeless sorrow? 
Beyond the Now, a far more blissful Summer 
Awaits thee than other transient comer, — 
One, which shall ope thy soul to healing showers 
And odors sweet of everlasting flowers. 
For me thou camest out to live forever. 
No wint'ry winds the binding-chain can sevei- ; 
So children, cease thy weak, and vain repining ! 
Death is but change — Life is eternal shining. 



82 POEMS BY ANNIE B. 8PEASING. 



AMARANTH. 



(to a. m. s.) 



The roses droop and fade e'er Summer's noon, 

(We would not call our flower, though sweet, a rose) 
And lily's dainty fragrance quickly goes. 

The daisy has the gold of sun and moon, 

Yet is its shimmer tarnished all too soon ; 
Thou art more like the velvet pansy blows, 
Or that fair flower born of latest snows, 

Or balm thou art to us, so dear a boon. 

But in thh beauty of thy wise, wide eyes, 
So like the soft, deep blue of summer skies, 
A soul's immortal glow, bright shining lies ; 
Unfading bloom is thine and life above 
The mortal which tho' fair but fades and dies 
And so we will call thee Amaranth, dear love. 



BEVEALED, 83 



REVEALED. 



The Creator has hidden much, within the souls of men, that In His own 
good time, and all -wise ways shall be revealed. 

Failing to find the best, In the brightest light, we are set among shadows 
where, by a single luminous ray, we often discover things of priceless value, 
hitherto trodden under foot. 

Where weeds were thickly growing 

A flower small I spied, 
It had a look half-frightened, 

As if it fain would hide 
Itself from sight among them, — 

I could not leave it so, 
Since I had found it growing, 

I thought 'twould brighter grow 

If given my attention, 

And so its rootlet sweet 
I singled out from brambles 

From under careless feet ; 
'Twas colorless and tiny 

Yet might its fragrance bless 
More lives than mine, if only 

'Twould bloom 'neath my caress. 



S4 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

It grows for me but slowly, 

In less of sun than shade ; 
'Tis of the many blossoms 

God has thus wisely made. — 
A sudden burts of sunshine 

Its hiding place revealed, 
Else, I had never found it, 

So closely 'twas concealed. 

O little untrained blossom, 

Thou art my very own ! 
Nor could I hold thee dearer 

If I had sooner known 
Where thou wert shyly hidden ; — 

I trust thou'lt with me stay, 
And grow in strength and beauty 

To gladden all Life's way. 



EASTER MORN. 85 



EASTER MORN. 



"He is uot hei-e." — Mark 14:6. 

Not here, not here among the dying, 

Nor yet within the tomb, — 
Not here, where dreary shadows flying, 

O'ercast the world with gloom. 
But there, a hope for those who sorrow 

For loved ones out of sight, 
A promise sweet of some to-morrow 

For all in heaven's light. 

Not here where doubt-clouds ever lower, 

And tempests oft assail ; 
Not here where buds die ere they flower 

And earnest efforts fail ; 
But there, O Highest, thou art risen 

From that which we call death, 
To draw all men from mortal prison 

With Love's immortal breath. 



86 POEMS BT ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

Not here among the broken-hearted, 

But lifted up in joy 
To reunite the friends now parted 

In bliss without alloy ; 
Not here — while we repeat the story 

This Easter morn so bright — 
But with " Our Father, " there in glory 

The Way, the Truth, the Light. 



OTHER DATS. 



They sat together in the sunshine bright ; 

He spoke of other days, when one more dear 
Than she sat close beside him, made his cheer ; 

With that one shadow of his lost delight, 

Her morning fair was changed to starless night ; 
And she — she smiled — too sad for moan or tear. 
To find herself so far from one so near, 

While swift the moments took their unseen flight. 

' Tis ever so, I think ; we cloud to-day 
With other days ; we turn from sunny hours, 
To rustle in the dark our faded flowers, 

While gifts unnoticed close beside us lay. 
With sighs and longings for the hearts at rest 
We hurt the quick, warm hearts who love us best. 



MT SWEETHEART. 87 



MY SWEETHEART. 



I have a fair-haired sweetheart 

With smiling eyes of blue ; 
His name and age I will not tell, 

Nor all that he can do. 

He's good and bad, he's sweet and rough, 

And many times he cries ; 
He runs and jumps, he laughs and sings, 

And causes many sighs. 

His heart is filled with love for me, 

And mine for him no less. 
I seek for patience, wisdom, too, 

That I his life may bless. 

For strength and wisdom, self-control, 

His footsteps dear to guide 
Along the troubled ways of life. 

By doubt and sin untried. 

May blessings crown my sweetheart ; 

May life be full of joy 
For thee, my noisy darling. 

My loving, laughing boy. 



POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



TO ALICE. 



In the new life now before thee, 

I would have the tempests few ; 
I would shield thee, e'en from showers, 

Have thy sky forever blue 
If I could, but I've no power, 

Save to ask our God to bless ; 
Dear, His love is never-ending, 

In its all-wise tenderness. 

And He leads for good, good ever, 

Tho' His ways be not our own ; 
Gives to us abundant harvest 

For the smallest good seed sown. 
Of the countless gifts He's given, 

There's no greater one than love, 
Since it has its consummation 

In eternal life above. 



WISHES. 89 



WISHES. 



The summer day was o'er, and twilight sweet, 
Came close upon its track with dew-bathed feet ; 
Moved by the mystic spell, May, Kate and Bess, 
Agreed among themselves, each, to confess 

What she would like to be in future years. 
" O, I would like," said laughing, blue-eyed May, 
" To go before the world, in some great play, 
To act so well the phases of my part, 
That all the pulses of its giant heart 

Should bound and flutter with its weight of tears." 

" And I would like to write," said dreamy Bess, 
" Some grand, sweet truth, the weary one to bless ; 
To clothe it in some sweetly flowing rhyme, 
As fair and tender as the summer time ; 

For truths, like folks, look better when well dressed." 
Then, looking far away, said restless Kate, 
" I'd like a true, deep-hearted soul to mate ; 
To have one hold me ever dearest, best. 
And in my womanhood, his honor rest ; 

For to be fondly loved, is to be blessed." 



90 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABINO. 

The years rolled on, and our ambitious May 
Found that her part was real, in Life's great play ; 
The world she moved and thrilled, as small beside 
The one she would have moved, as ocean tide 

Is great above the brooklet singing sweet. 
A lover came to woo, and Bess was wed ; 
She did not write, but lived the truth, instead ; 
Lived happy in an honest heart and name. 
Content to be unrecognized of Fame, 

And fit her rhymes to little children's feet. 

And Kate, who would have lived for love alone, 
Gave all her woman's heart unsought, unknown ; 
Yet she it was who gave great truths to men. 
For, having not, her longing taught her pen 

To write of Love, above the human, great. 
To tell of Love that, with a bounteous hand — 
Did we short-sighted mortals understand — 
Gives ever to its children ; gives, indeed, 
Not always what they want, but what they need. 

Nor gives — in wisdom — any gift too late. 



TO MY BBOTHEE. 91 



TO MY BROTHER. 



If I could call thee back, O Brother mine, 

I should not dare. 
Thou hast gone nearer to the Love divine ; 

Farther from care. 

My love could never shield thee : now thou'rt free 

In greater light, 
And waiting on that brighter shore for me 

Just out of sight. 

Unbroken silence must between us lie ; 

God wills it so. 
Yet love can ne'er grow less, nor ever die, 

But purer grow. 

' Twas hard to give thee up ; so hard to part ; 

But all in vain 
My bitter cry to move thy pulseless heart, 

Stilled from all pain. 



92 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

I had of thee, O Brother, greater need 

Than e'er before, 
And could not see the wisdom of a deed 

That left me sore. 

1 would not hurt thee, dear, with my sad cry, 

Nor weight to earth 
Thy spirit's flight to regions fair and high, 

In its new birth. 

But oh, when 1 am call to that bright land, 

Come to the shore ; 
And stretch across the river dark, thy hand. 

To help me o'er. 



UNITED. 93 



UNITED. 

Closely feound in wedlock holy, 

June, the maid of sweetest song, 
And the proud and gallant lover, 

Young July, so brave and strong. 
It had been a speedy wooing, 

He had charmed and won her heart 
Into willing, glad submission, 

Made her of his life a part. 

Then united, forth they started, — 

Song-birds piped their wedding march, 
Daisies blossomed 'neath their footsteps, 

Fair skies formed their bridal arch. 
Fleecy clouds sailed on before them, 

Merry sunbeams danced beside. 
While the happy mother, Nature, 

Laughed and beamed with honest pride. 



W POEMS BY ANNIE B. 8PEAEINQ. 

June was dressed in softest colors, 

Tiny buds were in her hair ; 
On her breast sweet, half -blown roses, 

In her hands were lilies fair. 
July ? he'd a smile protecting. 

And a glance of truest bliss, 
As the breezes, flower-scented, 

Gave the bride each dainty kiss. 

Farewell, June, may you be happy 

With this dear one, strong of heart ;- 
Strength and tenderness united. 

Greater blessings will impart. 
Bluebells, let your joyous peans 

Thrill the balmy summer air ! 
Wave, O grasses, wave a blessing, 

On the newly wedded pair ! 



A CHANGELESS SONG. 95 



A CHANGELESS SONG. 



A little child, all undefiled, 

Turned from her careless play, 
To gather flowers that bloomed 'neath showers 

Of dainty, laughing May. 
Her baby glee was good to see ; 

Her tiny, dimpled feet 
Danced lightly o'er the grass-grown floor — 

A bird o'erhead sang " Sweet." 

But when at length, in fullest strength, 

The summer warmly smiled, 
A far-off gleam of some strange dream 

Had chauged the wond'riug child. 
She looked on now with troubled brow ; 

All things seemed incomplete ; 
A restless world before her whirled. 

Yet still the bird sang " Sweet." 



98 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

Then came the King of everything ; 

Naught knew she now apart 
From one whose voice made her rejoice, 

Woke echoes in her heart. 
Alas ! too soon o'er this bright noon 

Night came with tear-bathed feet. 
The world grew old ; her heart grew cold, 

While still the bird sang " Sweet." 

Then Angel Death, with ic}' breath, 

Laid on her lips a kiss — 
" Would'st thou be free? Come, soul, and see," 

He said, " unending bliss !" 
The grasses wave above her grave, 

White stones mark head and feet ; 
Hearts standing nigh, weep, sob and sigh, 

E'en now he sings, " 'Tis sweet. 

It must belong, this cliangeless song, 

To all that's real in life ; 
And what seems death is but the breath 

Of change to peace, from strife. 
Your joyous strain, your blithe refrain, 

Is true ! — O bird, repeat ! — 
Pain lasts a day ; joy lives for aye , 

Love, Life and Death are sweet. 



TWILIGHT PRAYER. 97 



TWILIGHT PRATER. 



(for sick ones) . 



Father, now the day is dying, 
Be Thou near the sick ones lying 

On their beds of pain ! — 
In Thy tenderness and power 
Let them feel Thee near this hour. 

Be it shine or rain. 

For their shine is often broken 
E'en by words unduly spoken ; — 

Give them of Thy calm ! 
And when'er the shadows lengthen 
Wilt Thou not their weakness strengthen 

With unfailing balm ? 

Days are dark, and nights are dreary, 
To the sick ones grown so weary, 

Bearing heavy cross ; 
Feeble hands need softer pressing, 
Hungry souls crave richer blessing, 

'Mid earth's pain and loss. 



98 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

When the birds flv home at vesper, 
And the breezes softly whisper 

To the sleeping flowers, 
Banish, Lord, all vain regretting, 
G-ive, O give, a brief forgetting 

Of fast-failing powers. 

Countless, as the star-worlds glowing, 
Are thy mercies, overflowing, 

O Thou God of love ! 
Gird Thine own with strong uplifting. 
Gloomy shadows for them rifting. 

Doubt and fear remove ! 

When for sleep they seek their pillows. 
Still for them the raging billows 

Of unrestful brain ! 
And when life through death is given. 
Open wide the gates of Heaven, 

Where is no more of pain. 



THE CAT AND MOUSE. 



THE GAT AND MOUSE. 



The mouse was small, — the cat was large, 

Yet was not truly great ; 
She needed not the mouse for food — 

She'd dined from off a plate ; 
But little did she care for that — 

It was the greatest fun 
To catch and hold and cuff the mouse, 

Then let him start and run. 

To give him just a little hope. 

Then such an awful fright, 
To growl, and hiss, and spit on him, 

I ask you, was it right? 
Ask you, my boy, if you would like 

To be served rough as that — 
" O, no !" I think I hear you say, 

Nor would you be the cat. 



100 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



For while she teased the tiny mouse, 

A dog chanced her to see ; 
" Bow-wow," he said, " now I'll have fun, 

While you are up a tree. 
'Twas anything but fun to her — 

The raoral's plain and true : 
If you're unkind to smaller boys, 

Big boys will torment you. 



WARFARE. 



He went away, and his low-spoke good-bye 
Thrilled all her pulses with the firecest pain, 
Which beat against the strength she would attain ; 

Till fear, lest he should guess the reason why 

She found life sweeter with his presence nigh. 
Helped her, at least, an outward calm to gain. 
" Sometime, " he said, " I'll come to you again, " 

Unconscious that her smile concealed a sigh. 

Nor did he guess that every look and tone 
Of his, lived in her heart when he was gone ; 

There to combat with reason, and the will, 
Against the joy his promise to her brought. 

In vain, since doubt, that he would soon fulfill 
His promise, found no place in all her thought. 



IN THE BUD. 101 



IN THE BUD. 



" 1 wish I had a hundred cents 

To call my very own ! " 
I smiled to see the soft blue eyes 

So bright and eager grown. 

" A hundred cents, my little man, — 
What would you do with that ? 

'Twould buy a boy a pair of shoes, — 
Or would you buy a hat ? " 

Then straight he stood, a moment thought ; 

I wondered which he'd choose — 
" O no, I'll tell you what, " he said, 

" I've got a hat and shoes. 



102 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

" I'll buy Grandma a dress to wear, 
Mamma shall have some rings ; " 

Then — " Sister wants a jointed doll, 
And lots of other things. " 

He thought a dollar would buy all ; 

I did not undeceive : 
What need to hurt the gen'rous heart 

With truth that would but grieve?" 

I could but hope, though worldly-wise, 
With years, the boy might grow, 

That this bright bud so soon revealed, 
Might come to fullest blow. 



HEBOES. 103 



HEROES. 



An opportunity had one to save, 

At his life's risk, the lives of more than one ; 
A moment's strife with self, an impulse brave, 

Then, with the help of God, the deed was done. 

" A noble deed !" the universal cry, 

Pens, eulogistic, wrote beneath his name : 

" The age of heroes has not passed us by ; 
Lo, here is one deserving loud acclaim." 

Another said, " I'll make myself a name," 
But duty, at the start, held out her hands ; 

He recognized, accepted her strong claim, 
Strove patiently to answer her demands. 

Receiving oft for bread a cruel stone. 

He bravely toiled, unpraised, misunderstood. 

" Sometime," he said, " this work for others done, 
I'll bring about my own desired good." 



POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

But Time was cruel, and the wished-for goal 
Was still far off, when Death's unbidden touch 

Released from sacrifice the strong, sweet soul ; 
Did not the angels whisper " blessed are such?' 

He who obeys an impulse good, is great ; 

Who overcomes himself is greater far : 
One is for brilliant meteors a mate, 

The other shines a never-fading star. 



WHAT DO THE WATEES SAY. 105 



WHAT DO THE WATERS SAYf 



O waters rushing, gushing, 

What is the song you sing ? 
O waters splashing, dashing, 

What message do you bring? 
Sing you of joy or sorrow, 

Come you from high or low, 
Sing you of some to-morrow. 

Or yester-blossoms blow ? 

II. 

O waters white and golden' 

Beneath the shining sun, 
O waters deep and olden 

And dark when day is done, 
In vain I call and listen, 

So many sounds you bring, 
The while you gleam and glisten, 

Beneath the touch of Spring. 



106 POEMS BY ANNIE B. 8PEABING. 

Ill . 

O waters, cease your singing, 

And speak me but a word ! 
The Summer time is bringing • 

The songs of bee and bird ; 
Yet I would know the meaning 

Of all you sing or say, 
As you go onward, gleaning 

The sweets of Summer's day. 



IV . 

O waters, now you're stilling 

Those restless notes of Spring, 
To music soft and thrilling ; 

An answer sure you'll bring ; 
An answer to my calling — 

I've waited long to know — 
Say, in your sweet, still falling. 

Come you from high or low ? 



WHAT BO THE WATERS SAY. 107 



" So long? O mortal, calling, 

You have not called aright ! 
You should have looked above me, 

Above the day and night, 
Above the Summer's being, 

Above the waters' sigh. 
To One who is Creator, 

Of all things lowly, high, 

VI . 

" He speaks in loudest thunder, 

In softest summer breeze ; 
He is the loving Giver 

Of boundless lands and seas, 
The songs the birds are singing 

Are ever of His love, 
And we, O mortal, calling, 

Come from our God above. " 



108 POEMS BY ANNIE B. 8PEABINQ. 



EVER REMEMBERED. 



I think of thee, when buds with pride are swelling, 

On bush and tree ; 
When fading leaves are of the autumn telling. 

Thoughts turn to thee. 

I think of thee, when the bright sun is gleaming, 

Across the sea ; 
When, 'neath the silent stars, the dew lies dreaming, 

I think of thee. 

I see thee, when the morn, with a soft blessing, 

Sheds her first beam ; 
When sleep enfolds me in her arms' caressing, 

Of thee I dream. 

I hear thee, when soft strains of music, thrilling, 

Steal o'er my heart ; 
When pain and sorrow all my soul are filling, 

As dear thou art. 



STABS. 109 



STABS. 

There are glories shining, — 
They are Hope's bright stars ; 

O thou sad ones pining, 
Amid earth-born jars, 
Look above ! 

There are voices singing 

Of a life complete ; 
Echoes backward ringing 

Soft, and low, and sweet, 
Songs of love. 

There are white thoughts glowing- 
They are Truth's pure rays, 

Error's clouds off-throwing, 
Shining through Sin's haze, — 
Blessings rare ! 



110 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

They who trust these leadings, 

A way shall find, 
Out of selfish needings, 

Which so often bind 
To despair, 

Into joy unending, 

Gift of blissful trust, 
With that fair peace blending, 

Which is not of dust, 
But divine. 

Shine, O Stars ! in splendor. 

For the way untrod 
Leads to man's Defender, 

Blessed Son of God. 
Shine, O Shine ! 



AP08TB0PHE TO LOVE. Ill 



APOSTROPHE TO LOVE. 



I never knew how fair were Summer skies ; 

Nor could I catch the low, love-notes of birds 

Wooing their mates, with songs more sweet than words, 
'Till thou wert born, in fair and beauteous guise. 
To stir my heart with limitless surprise : 

As one, who in the fight, strong armor girds, 

Or, to escape, with many another herds, 
I tried to flee the power of thine eyes ; 

Yet vain it was I barred my heart to thee. 
For swiftly thou hast bound me with thy kiss. 
Thrilled every quiv'ring pulse with nameless bliss, 

Held and compelled my being to rejoice 

In each caressing tone of thy dear voice ; 
And of existence made full life for me. 



112 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABING. 



TO THE FRIENDS OF J. B. W. 



Though the voice, that you loved, be silent, 

And heard but in echoes sweet, 
Its tones are now heard among angels, 

Rejoicing in life complete ; 
Another soul, freed from the fetters 

Of earth-hurts and death, is gone 
To be nearer the loving Father, 

Who leaveth you not alone : 

Who sendeth a comforting angel 

Close after the one so dread, 
To tell to your hearts, in soft whispers, 

He liveth, whom you call dead. 
Rejoice ! as you tenderly loved him, 

That nevermore pain or sin 
Can come to the dwelling immortal 

Where the loved has entered in. 

No words can make easy the parting ; 

Yet, sad hearts, in that bright land, 
Waits a son, a brother, a lover, 

To stretch a welcoming hand : 
To guide his beloved through Death's portal. 

Which shuts out that life from this. 
And, though dark, leads to light eternal, 

The light of heavenly bliss. 



ALONE. lis 



ALONE. 
Eainy Day : August 18th, 1887. 



Alone, alone, 
So dark the sky has grown, 
So quickly joy has flown. 

That all the summertime 

With its sweet-scented rhyme, 
Seems like a dream, my own, 
A flower dead unblown — 

A break in music sweet, 

Or story incomplete — 
Alone, alone. 

Alone, alone. 
Yet but a day has gone. 
Since the sky clearly shone, 

And thou wert here with me, 

My sunshine bright to be. 
Music may change its tone. 
Clouds be, by sun off thrown. 

But when thou art away 

I am alone each day ; 

O Love, alone. 



114 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABINQ. 



A DAT DREAM. 



The day is still, and sweet, and bright ; 

The sunshine sparkles with delight ; 

The air is laden with perfume 

Of myriad flowers all in bloom. 

A day it is for dreaming dreams ; 

A day it is when Nature seems 

To fill the mind with wondering thought, 

And waken mem'ries half -forgot. 

How shall I chain my I'oving thought 

To dream some dreams with pleasure fraught ? 

Shall I remember other dreams 

That mocked me with delusive gleams ? 

Or shall 1 weave a vision sweet, 

Of how my life might be complete 

Had I some blessing unattained ? 

Or shall I dream of powers regained ? 

So dreaming, lose all memories sad. 

And in some future joy be glad ? 



A DAT DBS AM. 115 

The day is far too full of bloom 
For me to shadow it with gloom : 
So pure the day, I'll dream of Heaven ; 
Dream wrongs all righted, sins forgiven ; 
That in that fair and happy place, 
A smile shall brighten every face ; 
That there our loved ones we shall meet 
With mutual recognition sweet. 

That friends, by doubt now kept apart, 
Stand soul to soul, and heart to heart ; 
That there is ended every pain 
Of soul or body, heart or brain ; 
That we shall there the reason know 
Why life has burdens here below ; 
And why the much embittered cup 
Was given us so oft to sup. 

That weary feet shall sweetly rest 
In that bright City of the blest ; 
That faithful souls shall find reward, 
And sinful ones at last know God ; 
That lighted by His endless love, 
All souls shall live in heaven above. 



116 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



IDEALISM. 



Idealism ! the Ideal ! words at which many pause, and 
more stumble, — words having little significance for some 
minds, for others a meaning, vague, indefinable and vast, — 
words, still, which arc found in all lexicons, languages and 
literature. 

My thought on a subject which would furnish material for 
a volume, is not of the Idealism which has peopled forest, 
flood and stream with countless deities, illuminated the past 
with legendary marvels and magical influences ; nor is it of 
that which draws its nourishment from the bosom of Nature ; 
but of that which distinguishes the Perishable from the 
Eternal ; that which is more a soul-aspiration than intellect- 
ual thinking. 

Beyond the bound of what we know, beneath the ground 
upon which we tread, above the mountains which we can 
climb, beyond the star which we can see, we believe there is, 
we feel there must be something — what, we do not, may not 
indeed, in the present, know. 

The oak cannot clasp in its sturdy arms the breeze which 
so coyly plays about it ; but because intangible, are they 
therefore non-existent — the fictions of bardling — the dream- 



IDEALISM. 117 

works of visionary? I have yet to learn that they have 
been wrought in outline, or sung audibly, by visionary or 
bardling. This is not strange nor does it prove their unre- 
ality, for the mind — even the most adventurous — of man 
aspires not, goes not out after nothingness. A creature 
made in the image and likeness of God must have an indwel- 
ling consciousness, a soul capable of, as well as desirous for 
that perfection attained by the God-man, Christ. 

Soul can absorb within itself more than it can reflect to its 
fellow, and even now, in this sense-bounded life, every man 
is better than he is able to appear. Why, then, since we 
have the good and better, may we not hope, yes, be sure of 
the best ? This Idealism need not be ascribed to Christian 
fervor, or charged upon religious enthusiasm, for many, 
undisturbed by the one and unexalted by the other, have 
known and felt it ; indeed, it might well be termed the essen- 
tial faith of man, but, associated as it is in so many minds 
with the imaginary, it is fast falling into disuse. 

That bundle of units denominated "the world," at the 
present time give it little, if any, attention. Materialism or 
realism, so called, agnosticism, I might almost say atheism, 
is much preferable to this ism, which is but the superlative 
of good and better. 

Literati descend to the commonplace to avoid it, the pulpit 
is filled by men who must make their words of practical 
value, devoid of sentiment and pathos, for do we not go to 



118 POEMS BY ANNIE B. 8PEABINQ. 

church to be instructed and amused? It is the brainy man 
who fills the pews and if any yearn for spiritual food — if the 
instructor himself have soul-hunger, it must be carefully 
concealed as an eccentricity, unless he would be called 
" queer, you know." 

Idealists who dare assert that there are heroes, saints and 
martyrs in every community, must accustom themselves to 
the skeptical sneer of the Realist, so called, even though it 
be as true as that thieves, scandal-peddlers and reprobates 
infest every neighborhood. 

" Human nature is about the same the world over," and 
" Man is made up of equal parts of good and evil," says the 
realistic writer, who, with a fair amount of consistency, 
proves his theory in the characters who figure in his litera- 
ture ; but is this true ? Is this reality ? I say it is not. 

Humanity is vitalized by Divinity, and in this sense is the 
same, the world over. But to claim an equal amount of 
good and evil is to give the devil an equality with our Crea- 
tor. Since the power of one is limited, the power of the 
other limitless, can this equality be given? 

The elements which enter into the composition of vice are 
conferred upon the flesh by that one who was " a liar from 
the beginning ;" those which make up virtue are given to 
the deathless man by God, and therefore are among the un- 
changing and everlasting verities. 



IDEALISM, 119 

Why should the esoteric good be a doubted good ? Why 
should the appearance of evil be proof enough of its exist- 
ence? Brave men and women, whose hearts beat around 
the grave of some too-quickly perished hope, whose con- 
vulsed and dying hands crippled faith, live on in heroic self- 
sacrifice for others and for the good they can do. Because 
unknown, are they less real ? Do they exist but in the imag- 
ination ? I say no, and say further that they exceed in num- 
ber the diseased and poorly-organized suicides who find life 
not worth the struggle. It is not the man of idealistic mind 
who plans the destruction of life and property ; nor is it the 
idealistic writer who incites passion and licentiousness. 

Let the Idealist embrace Christianity, and he is taken out 
of the darkness of his doubt and fear into the heavenly light 
of hope and trust, the wild cry of his passions is converted 
into praise, he is placed in a loftier, purer atmosphere, his 
affections are invested with new beauty, his sorrows with 
new dignity, his struggles into new grandeur, until he is led 
to exclaim— not inquire, " Have I not a soul whose destina- 
tion is perfection, Heaven, whose parent is All-love, God !" 



120 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 



BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS. 



In the presence of a beautiful thought, dull care, doubt 
and melancholy vanish as clouds disappear in the broad 
track of the sunlight, leaving the possessor a happy being. 

Then why not always think beautiful thoughts? There is 
far more beauty in the world than unsightliness. 

When June has kissed into fuller life the dainty, budding 
freshness of May, are not song-heralded, rose-tinted dawns, 
subjects for beautiful thought? 

When twilight softly closes the door upon the sunset- 
crowned days, and Night's dusky curtain, dew-wet, falls 
upon the sleeping flowers, and daytime beauties become 
enhanced 'neath the softened light of moon and stars, is 
there a lack of beauty in all this ? 

"God giveth songs in the night," and dreams doth He 
also give ; dreams of loved ones gone, dreams of sweet com- 
mune with our precious, longed-for dead, and as we thrill 
again with love-smiles and fond caresses, we feel them dearer 
for the knowledge that only in dreams can we behold them, 
until we cross the river between the known and the unknown. 



BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS. 121 

And when the June days pass, when we have the full 
fruition of nature's earlier promises, is not each day itself a 
beautiful thought? 

The leaves are browned, and on the ground 
Perform their mission lowly. 

^L i, * * * * * 

They are not dead, but changed Instead 

Back to their source of being, 
As mortal must go back to dust, 

The soul to clearer seeing. 

When winter's sparkling crop is sown, and garden, parks 
and fields are alike beautiful 'neath their fleecy covering ; 
when the naked branches blossom white, and diamond pen- 
dants glisten in the sunlight, are there not manifold subjects 
for beautiful thoughts in this great change ? 

And is not human nature faithfully represented by nature ? 
Both have wild, unrestful moods ; both have harsh, discord- 
ant notes, but so wisely has the Creator attuned them with 
calm, sweet sounds, that the grand harmony of the whole is 
inexpressibly beautiful. 

Is there an intelligent mind whose nature is too much 
diseased to harbor some beautiful idea? I think not. 

Doubtless there are certain physical conditions which sub- 
ject the mind to gloomy forebodings, but if it be true, as 
dyspeptics and hypochondriacs, from the views they take of 
life, often aflSrm — that happiness exists only in imagination, 
. is there not the more need, then, for us to seek an entrance 
into this fairy realm? 



133 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABING. 

While we stray — in thought — along the paths of fair anti- 
cipation, grim reality's mocking face is lost to sight. Then 
there are the dreary waiting times that come sooner or later 
to us all. O, how unbearable, but for the beautiful thoughts 
which lead us backward over memory's track, to the delights 
of the past ; or forward to the wished-for goal ; or to hold 
us, for the time, what we wish to be. 

The great essential truths of creation are along the line of 
the beautiful, and God is love ! 0, beautiful thought ! 
Think of Him as a stern judge, sitting in condemnation 
upon the sins of children He has made to differ one from 
another, if you will ! but is not His love the more beautiful 
thought for the mind to feed upon? And will not one who 
obeys God from love of and for right doing, lead a nobler, 
truer life than one who in servility seeks only to escape the 
punishment? 

"Thoughts," J. N. Teal has written, "do not arise in 
the mind arbitrarily or by chance, but depend upon one's 
state of heart. As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." 
Then why not let them come in — the beautiful, the fair? 

Though we are weighted with the heavy burdens of care 
and sorrow we can have some bright thought to shine on, in 
the darkness of our hearts till they come to think no evil. 
There are many brave hearts that have made grief's hard 
pallet the birthplace of a new life. 



BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS. 123 

For as flowers live and grow, 
Even come to bloom 'neath snow, 

So immortal souls 
Shall from darkness come to light, 
Find a springtime ever bright, 

Reach the earth-missed goals. 

If we will but turn, in thought and life, to the right way, 
we shall find it broad and bright in the shine of light divine. 
O the " Joy that cometh in the morning !" 

liOok up, downcast hearts, for sorrow is not among the 
things everlasting, and if " Jesus wept," 'twas not long, but 
His smile is radiant enough to light a whole world forever. 

Be comforted, and think beautiful thoughts ! 

Discouraged hearts, look down among the lowly things 
and see how the grasses are crushed 'neath careless feet, yet 
springing up again with patience sweet ; and so learn to 
look up. The beautiful stars shine by day, yet must one be 
in lowly darkness to see them. 

O, hearts not understood, be glad ! For these lives of 
of ours are short and small ; and none but God can under- 
stand them all. On to the right ! On with thy heroic 
impulses ! and if some of them fall " before swine " and you 
feel the rending, think of the unmasking time, and the face 
to face knowing. 

O happy hearts ! the kingdom of heaven is within you, 
and your thoughts must be all of the beautiful, for you have 



124 POEMS BY ANNIE B. 8PEABINQ. 

conquered self and learned to walk humbly with One who is 
ever just, with One whose mercy endureth forever. 

Then scatter abroad your beautiful thoughts and inspire 
by the purity of your lives some thoughts in others that shall 
be to them bright guiding stars amid all their doubts and 
perplexities. 



A NIGHT MEDLEY.. 125 



A NIGHT MEDLEY. 



Thou art of Day the better part, 
O Night ! How beautiful thou art ! 
How strong and pitiful thy heart ! 
And tender! 
The night comprises one-half of our time. Does Nature 
thus indicate that half of our existence ought to be spent in 
sleep ? Does she draw over us her dusky curtain to compel 
us to abstain from toil, that we may renew our energies for 
the morrow? Not so. On the contrary, the instinct which 
she herself .has given us does not admit of so large a waste. 
But little more than half of our nightly hours is needed for 
sleep. What, then, is indicated by this ever- recurring inter- 
val of darkness ? I think she would remind us— this tender 
mother— by her tranquil night spell, that toil and gain are 
not the chief ends of life, but the means of sustaining life 
for its nobler ends. 

There are appointed us periods of rest, not only every 
seventh day, but at the close of every day— hours in which 
the soul can draw nearer its Source. 

Why is the scenery of our own sphere thus beautified 
below— why the heavens above made resplendent with moon 



126 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABINO. 

and stars, if the nigbt is not designed as the high and sol- 
emn time of man's best thoughts — the time of his inspiration 
and aspiration ? Day is necessary to appreciate the beauty 
of individual objects, the shrub, or tree, or flower-garden, 
but forest, firmament, mountain, or far-extending plain, 
receive new grandeur from the night. Whatever is sublime 
in nature is enhanced by the night ; nor is it deficient in 
beauty. Night is not only rich in the beauty and sublimity 
of its picturesque relations, but also in their variety. Its 
successive periods present a series of striking dioramic 

scenes. 

When the sun's parting kiss 

Flushes the East with bliss, 

Sweeter than mirth, 
Softly the twilight hour, 
In its unrivalled power, 

Steals o'er the earth. 

Shutting the flowers' eyes, 
Lighting the far-off skies. 

Soothing unrest. 
Lifting with earnest love 
Man's roving thought above 

Good, to the best. 

Cooling the fevered ground, 
Healing the bruised wound 

With nature's balm. 
Hushing the strife and din, 
Shedding o'er want and sin, 

Tears soft and calm. 



A NIGHT MEDLEY. 127 

After the twilight, with its poetic associations and quiet- 
ing effects, the growing darkness, in which the human 
thought realizes its relation to Thought divine, fills the 
ravines and vales, while the declining light still lingers in 
tints upon the clouds of the horizon, the heated atmosphere 
is refreshed by a cooler temperature ; animated nature 
ceases its toiling activity, and its din is hushed into the 
murmur of insects and the vesper notes of here and there a 
solitary bird. Last night, weary with the heat and burden 
of the day and the restless longings of a heart not in har- 
mony with the will of God, 

I heard a little mother bird 
Sing softly to her young, 

And as she sang, I thought I heard 
A melody unsung ; 

I hushed my heart — its sweet refrain- 
Was all that I could reach, 

Yet blessed was I, to thus attain 
What mortal could not teach : 

" Our God is love," the perfumed breeze 

Sighed gently o'er and o'er ; 
"• His blessings," shone the countless stars, 

"Than we, are many more." 
•' He's in the night, He's in the day, 

He reigns below, above ; 
His mercies tender last for aye ; 
Our God is love — is love." 



128 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

O wondrous song of blessed, everlastiDg truth! "Our 
God is love." 

Listen, O thou weary, sorrowing, and sinful ! Does the 
servility of thy daily, toiling life shut out the sweet refrain 
of this — Nature's sweetest song ? Art thou made to feel the 
absence of one dear by the presence of many less dear? 
Would'st thou know that the sin which hides itself behind 
greater sins is none the less a sin, and not less to be repent- 
ed of and forgiven? Would'st thou hear the still, small 
voice, and know that the sorrows of man are not from with- 
out, but within? Go forth, then, thoughtfully and prayer- 
fully, amidst the solemnities of the night ! 

Walk in the shadows, look up to the countless star-worlds, 
drink in the stillness, open the soul- windows, and in the 
self-forgetfulness and hush of spirit which shall follow, may 
come " a vision of divine presence, a promise of wisdom." 
It was in the night that Solomon was thus blessed. It was 
in the night that the Babylonish Monarch was made known 
to the Hebrews in a dream. It was in the night an angel 
released Peter from prison, and spoke unto Paul in his dun- 
geon at Jerusalem, and shook his prison at Phillippi ; and at 
night the angel appeared to him in the " Macedonian vision" 
and at the shipwreck at Melita. 

The freed Hebrews commenced their march from Egypt 
at night, " that night of the Lord to be observed of all the 
children of Israel, in their generations ; " and it was at 



A NIGHT MEDLEY. 129 

night that they took np their sublime march through the sea, 
whose waters were ' ' a wall unto them on their right hand 
and on their left." 'Twas at night our Saviour retired to the 
mountains for prayer after the daytime teaching in the tem- 
ple, and in those days, often He "continued all night in 
prayer to God." His agony in the garden was at night ; 
and it was probably before the shadows of night had gone 
that He rose from the dead ; and it was in the " evening, 
the first day of the week, that He revealed himself to His 
disciples with the tender benediction, "Peace be unto you." 
" God giveth songs in the night." Yes, and dreams, 
too — dreams in which we can forget the wounds of sorrow's 
knife ; dreams in which we can be, for brief, sweet moments, 
in the presence of happiness ; dreams in which our dear 
loved dead live again, and again thrill our hearts with warm 
kisses and love-smiles, dearer because of knowledge that 
only in dreams can we commune with ones gone out of mor- 
tal sight. O God, we thank thee for these precious diurnal 
Sabbaths of the soul, for these hours of rest, of beauty, of 
solace, of meditation and prayer ! In the solemn night- 
watches, far-reaching thoughts are born anew, and a gift of 
special value often falls on the soul whose desire has been, 
for long, without avail, seemingly, and swift answers to 
prayer are often brought on the wings of the king of rest, 
Sleep. 



130 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEARING. 

I sought one night, for long, in vain. 

To go in sleep, beyond the pain 

Of endless thought and daytime strain, 

With pleading words : 
" Sweet Sleep, I'm weary over-much ; 
Come thou, and with thy soft, cool touch. 
Impart to me a quiet, such 

As beasts and birds 

Have every night! (vorae, gentle sleep. 
Through all the night. I pray thee, keep 
My heart from all the doubts which creep 

To weary brain !" 
Anon, a change — O wondrous sight ! — 
As^sof t and pure as it was bright, 
There shone around me cloudless light ; 

Forgot was pain. 

" Would'st thou rejoice, weak, restless heart? 
Would'st thou from Doubt's night, come apart, 
And know His peace, where'er thou art? " 

(O tender voice!) 
" Trust thou in me ! " again it said, 
'^ Thou Shalt have light ! be not afraid ! 
For all who yearn to see, 'twas made; 

Come, and rejoice ! " 

Thus spake the voice, and now a face 
In which there was of fear no trace. 
Shone on me, full of rare, sweet grace, 
Whose lips said : •' Try ! 



A NIGHT MEDLEY. 131 

Try to forget the vanished years. 
Try to forget the doubts and fears, 
Trust Him who wipes away all tears, 
Who's ever nigh ! 

" I'll be thy friend, and ever true " — 
Then for a moment sweet, 1 knew, 
As bright and brighter round me grew 

The light of Heaven — 
That doubts and fears lead to despair ; 
That trust in God brings blessings rare ; 
That Faith had shown a haven fair, — 
■ Or had sleep given ? 

All things have power, for good or ill, 
To influence lives ; e'en dreams can fill 
Sore hearts with hope — mine lingers still- 
Dear sad ones, try ! 
And when dark shadows o'er thee steal. 
Cling close to Faith, if thou would'st feel 
A trust in God, through woe and weal, 
Light — by and by. 

Be holy, earth ! I am the Night, the strong, the avenging 
one, the searcher of the soul ! I bring storms ! I bring the 
tempest-birth of Memory ! Who calls me lonely ? I have 
hosts around me ! I pray, and the Father hears ! My tears 
and smiles He hides from the sight of the scornful. Great 
are His works ! Almighty ! And if they are so, how much 
greater, then, is He who hides behind them, sustaining all, 
filling all ! No world, no being, no atom lost ! Wonderful, 
beautiful and sacred is my influence upon all creations of 
Eternal Love. 



132 POEMS BY ANNIE B. SPEABINQ. 



THE LAST PAGE. 



Except where I could something worthy write, 
I've left your tiny pages clean and white ; 
And now, upon this last, there's hardly room, 
My little book, for bitterness and gloom ; 
The sun shines ever on, behind the tears. 
And there is more of brightness in the years^ 
Than we can see, they move so swiftly on. 
Freighted with goods, from seeming evils born ; — 
But O, upon the pages of my life. 
At last, I would not have the blanks so rife 
As they are here ; but written on each one. 
Some good — if incomplete, some good begun. 



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